


2. immortality

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [15]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Rocks Fall Everyone Dies, Well. Almost everyone.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"S, I'm immune. If I don't fix this, it's my curse to watch my sisters die."</p>
            </blockquote>





	2. immortality

**Author's Note:**

> ...did you forget that _both_ twins are immune?

There are six subjects of Project Leda at Cosima’s funeral.

There are five at Alison’s.

Four at Mika’s.

You know how the story goes from here.

In large empty house filled with the sound of babies gurgling, Sarah and Helena sit on a couch by two cribs and watch the waving of pudgy little hands. The babies in these cribs will never meet Oscar and Gemma Hendrix – or, if they do, they will never understand that someone is missing.

They tried so hard to get a cure. They tried so very hard. But there was Rachel, making the cell line into a factory line, and there was Cosima in the woods so cold and shivering. And now neither of them are there at all. Sarah dreams that she can feel it every time another clone dies, an infinitesimal firework going off between her ribs. Boom, boom.

Next to her Helena watches the cribs with a horrible urgency, like she’s afraid the babies will vanish if she doesn’t watch them every second. She has almost never left them alone. Not since the first funeral. _They won’t get sick_ , Sarah wants to tell her, _because Kira hasn’t gotten sick_ , but what if Kira gets sick? There isn’t anyone left to tell her why Kira wouldn’t get sick, to wave hands around in the air and talk so fast and joyous that it leaves a grin in the corner of Sarah’s mouth. There is no one left.

And Sarah is crying again. It comes and goes in waves. You forget that a person you love has died, and then you remember – like a punch to the gut – and while you are remembering you are horrified at yourself, for ever forgetting, and in the middle of that horror you remember all over again that they are dead. It never ever leaves Sarah alone.

Helena’s hand settles in the middle of her back, warm. Rubs circles. Sarah’s face is warm and wet with saltwater, like some distant sea.

“They’re gone,” Sarah says, an awful sound. Her voice these days sounds like something dredged from the bottom of the ocean, shipwreck-syllables. Everything reminds her of the ocean. It’s the only thing big enough to describe the feeling.

Helena doesn’t say anything. Sarah wants her to. Sarah wants, selfishly, for Helena to fix it. She has a lot of selfish wants. She wants Cosima to still be alive; she wants Cosima here, on the couch next to her. Cosima would be an easier person to have at the end of the world. She hates herself for wanting that, because Helena is her sister and she loves her, but – it doesn’t stop the sour voice in the back of her head. It should have been Cosima.

She thinks Helena knows. Helena has always been too good, at that knowing.

Maybe that’s why she barely ever talks anymore. Not to Sarah. Not to Siobhan, or Felix. Only to Kira, sometimes, and to her children. Maybe she doesn’t want to remind Sarah of her sandpaper syllables, the way each word stumbles out of her mouth and falls to the ground.

Cosima’s voice, like a bird in flight. Always up.

Alison’s voice. Hell, Krystal’s voice. Sarah would take it. Sarah would take any of them. She misses them all so much it hurts, it hurts, saltwater in the wound.

Sarah turns to look at Helena, who’s watching her with a mouth full of sour guilt. Helena’s eyes dart away, dart back. Every expression she gives Sarah these days looks like an apology.

“Say something,” Sarah says, Sarah begs, Sarah fires a handful of desperate bullets into Helena’s chest again. “Just – just bloody _say something_ , Helena, you’re the _last one left_.”

“I’m sorry,” Helena says, voice rusted and quiet, and something inside Sarah snaps right in two.

“Fuck _you!_ ” she roars, the sound catastrophic. Apocalyptic. The sort of sound that could break the world.

In a crib, one of the babies wakes and starts crying. Then they’re both awake. _They are fighting, like us,_ Helena had whispered a million million years ago. Like she could have known.

Now Helena watches her with horrible wide eyes before practically leaping off the couch and pulling one of her children close to her chest. She doesn’t stop looking at Sarah. She presses the baby’s head to her chest, ducks her head, whispers into that head of downy hair nothing Sarah can hear. She’s jealous of a baby and she hates it. She’s jealous of Helena, because if Helena could have picked one person to live forever with it would have been Sarah. She has everything she wanted, and all Sarah has is her.

Helena is still watching her, mouth whispering secrets into her child’s hair. Sarah stands up from the couch and backs away, because: she can still feel words in her throat, a million and one cruel and angry things. And this is one gift she can give Helena – not letting them out.

Instead she does what she’s always done best. She turns on her heel, and runs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading...please kudos and comment if you enjoyed. I feel bad doing the exclamation point and smiley face here, I won't lie to you.


End file.
